The Main Event
by Joanna Grant
Summary: Logan 'Wolverine' Howlett is a washed-up boxer whose contract is the only thing Marie D'Ancanto-Worthington has left after her husband abandons her. Loosely based on the 1979 movie of the same name.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Main Event

Author: Karen

Rating: PG-13

Universe: Post X3 – AU

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Fox & Marvel. *sad panda*

Summary: Logan 'Wolverine' Howlett is a washed-up boxer whose contract is the only thing Marie D'Ancanto-Worthington has left after her husband abandons her.

* * *

><p>Ultimately the Cure was a failure.<p>

Worthington Industries was sued for billions – but instead of settling the lawsuits, Warren Worthington II decided to take his money and disappear.

Jean Grey, who'd been a prominent representative for mutant rights, suspiciously dropped out of sight at the same time Warren and his fortune evaporated.

It fell upon Warren's son, Warren Junior to inform his stepmother about the double betrayal.

Marie, who'd loyally stood by her husband – regardless of his impending bankruptcy and rejection by their social circle, was understandably devastated.

Today she was meeting with Warren Junior and Bobby Drake, the family's accountant, to discuss her finances and options.

"When you said, 'bad' – do you mean I have to be careful at Neiman-Marcus, or I can't even afford toothpaste?" she asked.

"You can brush your teeth at my place," Warren offered. He'd always cared for his father's latest wife. Unlike his previous stepmothers, she was sweet and kind and most importantly, had fostered a good relationship between him and his father. For those reasons, he wouldn't think of abandoning her too. Unfortunately, as his father had control of his trust fund and cleaned that out as well, the only thing Warren Junior could offer Marie was his emotional support.

"Oh God!"

"If you sell the assets that are solely in your name, it should help … for a while," Bobby suggested.

Marie nodded her head in acquiescence – already running through a mental checklist of everything valuable. The first item she'd offer for sale would be the four-carat emerald-cut diamond solitaire currently mocking her on her left hand. Like her marriage certificate, it no longer held any value to her. A few other pieces of jewelry should also fetch a decent amount at Sotheby's. She had no problem sacrificing the baubles, as the fewer reminders of her lying, cheating scumbag of a husband – the better. The only one she'd never consider giving up was the proto-type suppression bracelet she wore to keep her mutation at bay. It was the only device of its kind in existence, but the executives at Worthington Industries no longer feared industrial espionage. Because of the fiasco with the Cure, the mutant population no longer trusted anything offered by the company, which meant the plan to mass-produce the bracelet or even attempt to sell the patent-pending design to a competitor had been scrapped. With the exception of Marie, anyone encumbered with a mutation they hated was stuck with it for now.

"I was going through some old files and came across this," Bobby said as he handed Marie a frayed manila file folder.

Taking the folder, she asked, "What's this?"

"Apparently the only thing of any value my father didn't abscond with," Warren told her.

Marie opened the file and saw it contained one sheet of paper. She raised her face and gave the two men a puzzled expression.

"It's a boxing contract," Bobby informed her.

"And what am I supposed to do with this?" she asked – still confused.

"Warren sponsored this guy to the tune of $250,000. It was set up as a tax shelter and was never intended to be a profitable arrangement. Now it does specify that Howlett – that's the boxer's name – was obligated to be in ten fights. But he hasn't gotten into the ring professionally in nearly five years and nobody has bothered enforcing the provisions of the contract."

"Yeah … so?" Marie replied, still not following what this had to do with her current situation.

"This guy owes you ten boxing matches … or has to reimburse you his training costs."

"I own a boxer?"

A few days later Marie pulled up to a ramshackle building adjacent to a broken-down trailer. A battered pick-up truck was leaking a variety of fluids onto the cracked cement of the driveway.

Getting out of her Bentley, she was immediately hit with the smell of the City Dump on the other side of the street.

"Charming," she said to herself as she screwed up her nose, gave up any hope that her navigation system had taken her to the wrong place and started walking towards the last known address of the man whose name was on the contract she had tucked into her Hermes handbag.

"He's not here," a voice called out to her.

Marie turned toward the sound.

A woman with caramel-colored skin and bleached white hair stepped out of the trailer – which Marie noticed was resting on a foundation of bricks.

"Obviously you already have a driver's license, so you're not looking for lessons," the white-haired woman noted indicating the driving school, "So what do you want with Logan?"

"Oh good, so this is his residence," Marie said – relieved that she wasn't on a wild goose chase.

Leaning on the wrought-iron railing that constituted the trailer's front porch, she replied, "Yeah. This dump is his … residence. You still haven't told me what you want with my man."

"I'm Marie Worthington and I have business to discuss with him," she started to offer.

Instead of pressing Marie for any further explanation, she snapped, "Worthington? You anything to do with Warren Worthington – that lying sack of shit who took everyone's money for a fucking placebo?"

"He's my husband. But he screwed me over too and I'm in the process of divorcing him," Marie replied. Although she didn't know why she felt the need to defend herself and share personal information about her marital status with a total stranger.

"I see you've still got your fancy car and designer bag. So, honey, we're not exactly in the same boat."

While Marie doubted that the finances of the woman standing before had been impacted that severely by purchasing a vial of ultimately worthless serum, she fought the desire to get into a prolonged argument about it.

"Where is Mr. Howlett?" she asked instead.

"Try Rocko's Gym – on Third Street," the woman informed her.

"Thank you," Marie responded politely.

The white-haired woman turned to go back into the trailer.

"Uh … excuse me. Which way is Third Street?"

The woman just pointed in a general direction to the south of their current location and retreated back inside – leaving Marie standing alone on the driveway.

As there was no need to say 'thank you' again, she got back into her car and drove off.

Five minutes later she was parked in front of Rocko's Gym. Entering the storefront she was overwhelmed by the stench of sweat that was almost as rancid as the vapors from the city dump opposite Howlett's home.

A shadow fell across her and she looked up to see that it had been cast by a man who was at least a foot and a half taller than her.

"Evelyn's is next door," he told her – apparently under the impression that she'd wandered into the wrong establishment and actually wanted the beauty salon next door.

Even though she could no longer afford Chaz of Park Avenue, she wasn't reduced to patronizing a strip mall salon quite yet. But instead of wasting time explaining that to this mountain of a man, she just informed him that she was looking for Logan.

"Are you pregnant?"

"No," she replied indignantly, "I was told that he trains here."

The large man burst out laughing and then gestured for Marie to follow him.

Not sure what was so funny, she trailed behind him as he snaked his way between the gym's workout equipment. The men working out on the various machines stopped, sat up and stared at her as she passed by.

"Hello," she repeated politely and nodded her head as she maneuvered through the metal obstacle course.

In the back room a group of men were in the midst of a poker game, which ground to a halt once they noticed the stunning young woman trailing behind Rasputin.

"Hey, Pete, who's your new friend?" a young man fiddling with a lighter asked.

"She's looking for you, Logan," Pete informed one of the players. "Not pregnant," he added.

The man that Pete had been addressing raised his face to their visitor and Marie felt herself catching her breath. As she'd momentarily forgotten Bobby telling her that Howlett's mutation was healing; she was expecting someone scarred from taking constant beatings, but this man was devastatingly handsome and didn't have a mark on him.

"Looks like you found me," Logan told her – giving Marie his own once over and appreciating what he was seeing. Whatever she was selling, he'd find the money to buy it.

Quickly regaining her composure, she said, "Can we speak in private? I have some business to discuss with you."

"Are you from the bank? 'Cause I told that other guy that I'd have the money by the 15th … 20th at the latest."

"Sure you will," one of the other players noted, "Right after you make good on that $10 bucks I loaned you a month ago."

"Fuck off, Gambit," Logan snarled.

"I'm not from the bank," Marie informed him, "I'm here to discuss your contract with Warren Worthington."

The man that Logan had addressed as Gambit replied, "Worthington? What's Wolverine got to do with that snake oil salesman?"

"Wolverine … is that your boxing moniker?"

"Moniker," the young man with the lighter scoffed.

"Shut up, Pyro," Pete told him.

"My husband provided you with funds for training," Marie continued as she reached into her bag, retrieved the single sheet of paper and then waved it in Logan's general direction, "and in return you were supposed to fight in ten matches. As you've failed to participate in any sanctioned fights in the past five years, you've violated the terms of the contract and are legally obligated to return the money our company has paid you." She tucked the contract back into her bag and finished by holding out her hand, "I'll take a check. Thank you very much."

"Get in line," Pyro snickered.

"Listen, lady. Hard as this might be for you to believe, but I don't have a quarter of a million just laying around," Logan barked.

"Oh, so you do remember?" Marie replied, "Well, then you'll just have to fulfill your obligation by fighting."

"Some idiot gave you that much money?" Gambit asked with a chuckle.

"And some other idiot thinks he's gonna get back in the ring," Another player, a black man wearing a cowboy hat, added.

Rising out of his chair and advancing on her, causing her to take a deliberate cautionary step backward, Logan towered over her and pinning her with a heated glare from hazel-colored eyes said, "I'm a lover – not a fighter."

"Probably would've been cheaper if she'd been knocked up, dude," Pyro laughed as he flicked his fingers and caused Gambit's cigar to burst into flames.

"Stop fucking around," Gambit warned as he extinguished the small fire and retaliated by charging a playing card with some sort of kinetic energy and tossing it in Pyro's direction.

Ignoring the possibility that a brawl was about to erupt, Marie squared her shoulders and told Logan defiantly, "You owe me $250,000 – and if you can't write me a check, then you have to get back into the ring."

"We'll see about that," Logan replied and pushed past her and stormed out.

"Gentlemen," Marie said as a farewell statement and walked out of the room. She weaved her way back through the maze of machines amidst a chorus of whistles.

If she'd been hoping to catch up to Logan, he was long gone by the time she finally made it out the front door and back onto the street. She decided to let her lawyer Scott Summers deal with the uncooperative Mr. Howlett.


	2. Chapter 2

The Main Event – Chapter Two

It was still relatively early in the day and Marie was enjoying her second cup of coffee on the terrace of the Park Avenue penthouse that had been Warren's wedding gift to her. As she hadn't been named as a defendant in the lawsuits and the apartment's deed was solely in her name anyway, it hadn't been seized by the government when her husband skipped the country. Warren had paid cash and so although there was no mortgage payment, the $5,000 per month condo association fee still needed to be covered. This hadn't been an issue when her bank account had maintained a healthy balance, but currently it was worse than when she'd first arrived in the city ten years earlier. The Bentley that had been her first anniversary present was being sold for less than half of its original purchase price, but she was desperate for an infusion of cash and had accepted the insulting offer. Once those funds became available they would help keep her afloat for a few months, but ultimately the penthouse would have to be put on the market.

The musical jingle of the doorbell interrupted her peaceful morning. The concierge desk in the lobby hadn't notified her of any visitors and only Warren Junior and Scott were permitted to come up without being announced first. As she no longer employed a fulltime housekeeper, she put her cup down and went to greet whoever it was herself.

Opening the front door she was surprised to find Logan and another man that she recognized as the cowboy hat-wearing poker player from the gym, standing in the hallway.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, "This is supposed to be a secured building."

"Your doorman is an ex-fighter, so he did us a favor," Logan replied. Without waiting for an invitation, he brazenly brushed past Marie and walked into her home.

"Yeah, well he's finished around here," she huffed.

"Funny, he said the same thing about you," the other man said – then added, "I'm John Wraith, by the way."

Wraith and Marie followed Logan into the living room, where Logan dropped down onto one of the pristine white couches.

"Please, make yourself at home," Marie said sarcastically – fighting the urge to slip a towel under him to protect her expensive furniture from the dirt and oil stains on Logan's faded jeans. She also tried to ignore the way his white t-shirt clung to his well-formed torso.

John Wraith sat in one of the white chairs next to where his friend was parked.

Exasperated and realizing they weren't planning on leaving anytime soon, Marie relented and sat in the other chair.

Logan cut right to the chase. "Why are you hounding me about the contract?" he asked. Gesturing to the elegant surroundings he added, "You don't seem to be hurting for money."

"Not that it's any of your business, but my husband emptied out our joint bank account, so I don't have any money. The gossipy doorman with no apparent respect for the tenant's privacy is correct; I probably won't be here for much longer. I've got a realtor coming by this afternoon to discuss listing the apartment because I can't afford to maintain it beyond a couple more months – and eventually the furniture and artwork will be sold as well." She tamped down the urge to burst into tears – determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of Logan and his rude assumptions.

Instead of saying anything sympathetic, he asked, "Can I get a beer?"

"It's 9 a.m.," Marie observed.

"What's your point?" he responded.

"What's _your_ point?" she replied, not bothering to make any attempt to play waitress and fetch him a beer or anything else. It had only been a few minutes, but she was already starting to get irritated with his audacity.

"Call off your dogs."

Marie shook her head in confusion. "What are you talking about? What dogs?"

"Your lawyer had Logan served with papers yesterday," Wraith explained for him, "They've shut down the driving school."

Scott had mentioned that he'd found a way to insure that Logan would have to resume fighting, but he hadn't given her any specifics and Marie hadn't pressed for any details.

"Well, I guess now you'll just _have_ to fight," she said triumphantly.

"He can't," Wraith told her.

"And why not?"

"Go ahead, Logan, tell her," Wraith insisted.

"I haven't gotten into the ring in five years because the last time I was in one, I killed a man," he said bluntly.

"What?"

"The guy's name was Fred Dukes. It was the end of the sixth round and I was way behind in points." He nodded his head in Wraith's direction, "John over there tells me I gotta stop dicking around and take this guy down. When the bell signals the start of the seventh round, I come out of the corner swinging. I hit him with uppercuts, right hooks, left hooks. I'm using every punch in the playbook. I land a solid counterpunch on his left jaw – but even though he wobbles slightly and I know just one more tap is gonna take him out, I wanna go for the knockout. So I do … and hit him with a liver punch. Two seconds later he's kissing the canvas."

Marie is sitting there with her mouth open – riveted by Logan's story.

"But Fred doesn't get up after the count is finished. He's just lying there. That's when everyone realizes that something's wrong." Logan started to choke up and continued, "At his funeral I knelt down and swore to his four year-old son that I would never use my fists as lethal weapons ever again."

"Oh my God, I didn't know," Marie said as she clasped her hand to her chest.

"And one more thing," Logan added, "He was my best friend."

"Uh huh," Marie said, suddenly regaining her composure. "You know you almost had me."

"The best friend thing too much?" he asked.

Standing up, she yelled, "Get out of my apartment!" Then she reached over, grabbed him by his white t-shirt and yanked him up off of her couch.

In the elevator on the way down, John Wraith repeated, "_'And he was my best friend.' _Howlett, you're the dumbest white man I've ever met."

Logan's attempts to avoid honoring his contract had reached a dead-end and a match had been set up at a small arena in Asbury Park, New Jersey. On the drive to the venue, Wraith had to pull over because Logan was feeling nauseous.

"Does he always get sick before a match?" Marie inquired from the backseat. She'd chosen to ride down with the two men instead of just meeting them there – mainly to insure that Logan actually showed up and couldn't claim they'd gotten lost.

"He's just upset they switched fighters on us," Wraith explained.

Logan's opponent was supposed to have been the Brooklyn Bleeder – a low-rent fighter with the reputation of being easy to knockout. It should've been a relatively easy match for Logan's first time back in the ring. But the Bleeder had managed to get his jaw broken in his previous fight and had been replaced on the roster by someone with the more menacing stage name of The Widow Maker.

Wraith handed her his cell phone that displayed a photo of Logan's new opponent. It made her shudder. The man's face looked like it had been through a meat grinder and then clumsily stitched back together by Dr. Frankenstein. The wide, crooked smile revealed that most of his front teeth were either broken or missing completely.

"But why's he worried? He heals," Marie said as she handed him back his phone. She felt like she was stating the obvious and didn't understand why there was a problem.

"Still fucking hurts," Wraith reminded her.

"Oh," she replied contritely.

"Besides," he continued, "His healing power has slowed a bit due to lack of use."

"Lack of use?" she repeated, scrunching her face in puzzlement.

"When Logan was boxing, his mutation also got a workout. Take away the body's need to repair itself from daily beatings and things just naturally slow down," he explained.

"Which means if he sustains injuries, not only will it hurt like hell, but it's going to take more than just moments to completely recover," Marie said in realization.

"Yeah … and he's so pissed off at you that I doubt he'd want you to kiss his boo-boos all better."

Marie had been willing to push Logan back into the ring because she'd been confident in his mutant ability to heal. She hadn't considered the fact he wasn't immune to pain, or even the possibility that he wouldn't recover almost immediately.

Several hours later they were heading back to the city, but this time it was Marie on the side of the road emptying the contents of her stomach.

"I knew she couldn't take it," Wraith said triumphantly – having predicted that Marie wouldn't be able to handle the raw brutality of boxing.

Opening the door and getting back in the car, she stole a peek at Logan who was sitting quietly in the back seat. He'd been pulverized. He had a bandage across the bridge of his nose, a swollen lip and the beginning bruise of a black eye. Marie rolled down her window and inhaled a large gulp of air, hoping that would help her avoid puking again.

Wraith turned to Logan and gave him a conspiratorial nod.

"You've gotta get him in better shape," she finally said.

"WHAT!" Wraith and Logan both shouted.

"And we've got to get him matches with nicer people," she added.

Wraith glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught Logan mouthing, "Help me" before sinking back into the seat and closing his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Marie hadn't been kidding when she'd told Wraith to get Logan into better shape. Today she was on her way back to Rocko's to make sure some of their time at the gym was spent training instead of playing poker, smoking cigars and knocking back beers.

Dressed casually in a pink Juicy Couture tracksuit with a Valentino bag over her shoulder, no make-up and her hair tied in a messy knot; she still managed to look out of place as she entered the gym.

"You must be Logan's owner," a squat, reptilian-looking man said as he stepped into her path.

"I don't own anyone," she replied indignantly – wondering exactly what Logan had told people about her. She fumbled for the right description and finally settled on, "I'm his manager."

"If a man's on a leash, then you're his owner," he insisted.

John Wraith's sudden appearance saved Marie from further argument with the short man.

"Leave her alone, Toad," he warned as he placed his hand across Marie's back and steered her away.

Wraith guided her to a ring located toward the back of the gym. Logan was already in it – sparring with the large man Marie recognized as Pete.

"Logan," she called out.

He turned at the sound of her voice and was distracted just enough that he failed to notice Pete's right fist coming at his left jaw. Two seconds later he was staring up at her from the canvas floor of the ring.

"Oops," she said guiltily.

Logan crawled over to the side and pulled himself up on the ropes. Hanging over the edge he said, "Ya know, every time I see you, it takes less and less time for me to get hurt."

"I'm sorry. Do you need a Tylenol?" Marie offered.

"Lady, you're the bigger pain in my …"

"Language!" A sharp voice interrupted. It belonged to the white-haired woman from the trailer. "There are ladies present."

"Where?" Logan asked sarcastically.

Ignoring his rudeness, the woman turned to Marie and said, "We haven't been properly introduced, but I'm Ororo."

"Ooh, look at you – putting on airs and graces for the fancy lady," Gambit said as he approached.

"Fuck off, LeBeau," Ororo replied.

Addressing Marie, he said, "See, that's the Storm I know."

"Storm?"

"They call me Storm because I can control the weather," Ororo explained.

"I thought Logan said it's because you're always whipped up worse than a hurricane," Pete stated innocently.

Ororo fixed Logan with a withering stare. He just shrugged.

Wraith continued the formal introductions. "Remy LeBeau, better known as Gambit. And the big guy who just kicked Logan's ass is Piotr Rasputin – also known as Colossus."

"He did not kick my ass!" Logan barked defensively. Then pointing at Marie, he accusingly said, "She fucked up my chi."

"Not that lame ass excuse again," the young man that Marie remembered was called Pyro said as he approached the ring.

"That's rich coming from you," Logan replied.

"One small fire that got slightly out of control …" Pyro started to explain.

"You burnt down the east wing of Xavier's," Pete reminded him.

"Xavier's? You lived at Charles Xavier's?" Marie inquired.

Charles Xavier was well known in both the mutant community and boxing world. His school was a safe haven for mutant kids and members of his X-Men squad were notoriously good fighters. His current champion, Victor Creed – better known as Sabretooth – was undefeated.

"We all did, at one time or another," Wraith told her.

"And eventually all got kicked out," Pyro added. "Logan used to be Xavier's best fighter – until the incident."

"Are they talking about when you accidentally killed Fred Dukes?" Marie asked Logan.

"Really? You're still telling that story?" Gambit said – then addressing Marie he told her, "Blob's not dead."

"Is every word out of your mouth a lie?"

"Yes!" Came a chorus of voices.

"I don't need your help," Logan informed his friends.

"So, if it's not Fred Dukes, then what *incident* is he referring to?"

"An important match was cancelled and Xavier lost a few bucks," Logan started to explain nonchalantly.

"A few million," Gambit clarified, "And the rumor was that Logan had accepted a bribe from Lehnsherr to screw it up."

Erik Lehnsherr was currently the Commissioner of The World Boxing Federation with a reputation for being as twisted as the metal he could manipulate.

"Weren't you supposed to take a dive?" Pyro asked.

"I never made any deal to throw the match … and I didn't start that fight in the tunnel either."

Marie was completely lost at this point.

Wraith noticed her puzzled expression and offered further exposition. "Logan was in the tunnel leading to the arena when Victor Creed started taunting him about Psylocke. She used to be the Wolverine's until she decided she wanted to live even more dangerously and went slumming with Creed. It's not really clear who threw the first punch, but all hell broke loose and they never made it into the ring. Per the ironclad contract with the Brotherhood, Xavier forfeited his share of the gate and the purse. He accused Logan of being in league with Lehnsherr to cheat him and tossed him off the X-Men."

Marie nodded, even though she really only understood about half of what she'd just heard.

"Charles Xavier can go fuck himself," Logan snarled.

Suddenly Marie had an idea. "The Fight That Never Was," she proclaimed.

"Huh?"

"We'll call Mr. Lehnsherr and have him set up a rematch between Logan and Creed. We can promote it as the resolution to The Fight That Never Was."

"He's the one who keeps getting hit in the head, so how come you're the one who's brain damaged?" Ororo asked.

"I think it's a great idea," Marie answered defensively.

"Apparently you also thought that outfit was a great idea," Ororo replied sarcastically.

"Cat fight!" Pyro shouted.

"Allerdyce, don't you have somewhere to be … something to burn down?" Wraith said in exasperation. To Logan he said, "You know, she might be on to something. You've always wanted another shot at kicking Creed's mangy ass."

"Yeah, but I haven't had any major fights in a long time and despite this awesome body," he said – doing a little flexing, "I'll admit I'm not in good enough shape to take on Creed. You do remember that he's put most of his opponents in traction."

"So you keep training, and for practice you pick a few fights with other boxers," Marie said.

"Technically, you don't 'pick fights' – you arrange matches," Logan informed her.

"Well excuse me for not knowing the correct terminology," she replied.

"Look, if you're gonna be part of Team Wolverine, I suggest you brush up on the lingo."

"Fine. I'll stop at Barnes & Noble on the way home and pick up some books."

"Books? Really?" Logan just shook his head and walked off towards the locker room.

"Wait until you hear the ideas I have about your boxing outfits," she called after him.

He just ignored her and kept walking.


	4. Chapter 4

Marie's lawyer Scott Summers had arranged for her collection of jewelry to be offered at the next Sotheby's auction – even paying for the catalog to be printed in time. However, Team Wolverine needed an immediate infusion of funds, so she was hosting a cocktail party to sell shares in Logan's contract.

The soiree was being held at Scott's weekend home in the Hamptons. She didn't care if Warren's society friends came merely out of curiosity, just so long as they brought their checkbooks. She'd long ago given up any pretense of pride.

Logan found Marie on the deck overlooking the beach. In the golden light of the setting sun she looked ethereal in a simple white cotton sundress, rows of thin diamond bangles on her right wrist and French pedicure toes slipped into crystal-encrusted flat sandals. Her chestnut and white-streaked hair was loose and windswept from the ocean breeze.

"Fancy place. Summers must be doing okay," he observed.

"Scott has worked very hard for everything he's achieved, so please don't make assumptions," she replied defensively.

"Is he your lover?" Logan asked bluntly.

Marie just laughed. "No," was all she offered, because she didn't feel she owed him an explanation.

Just then the subject of their conversation appeared by Marie's side. Dressed in casual, yet obviously expensive clothes, he looked more like a model for Abercrombie & Fitch than a Manhattan attorney. In his faded jeans and plain black t-shirt, Logan felt woefully underdressed – something that had never been an issue before Marie came into his life.

"Logan, this is Scott Summers," she formally introduced.

The dark-haired man with the red-tinted glasses extended his hand, which Logan ignored.

"Pleased to finally meet you," Scott said anyway as he dropped his hand back down to his side.

"Right," Logan replied.

Instead of pressing Logan any further, Scott turned his attention back to Marie and said, "So, are you ready to give them your big pitch?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied and started walking back into the house.

Warren Junior was already in the living room, immersed in conversation with a pretty young brunette.

"Hi, Kitty," Marie offered in greeting to Warren's companion.

"Hello, Mrs. Worthington," she replied and the two women exchanged cheek-kisses.

"Logan, this is my girlfriend Kitty," Warren told him.

This time Logan extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you," she told him as they shook hands.

"Probably mostly lies," Logan said with a smile and a wink.

Kitty just gave him a dimpled smile in response.

Scott tapped the side of his champagne flute with a spoon to get the attention of the gathered crowd.

"Good evening, everyone. I'd like to welcome you to my home and thank you for attending this evening's event. At this time, I'll turn the floor over to Marie."

There was a small polite round of applause as Marie stepped forward.

"First, I'd like to thank Scott for hosting tonight's cocktail party," she said, which garnered another short burst of light clapping. "As you're all now well aware, my darling husband and the woman whom I can only assume will be the fifth Mrs. Worthington have run off with everything that wasn't nailed down."

Seeing the looks on her guest's faces, she decided to stop giving them a history lesson on her personal problems and cut right to the chase.

"Anyway … I have a new business venture. I'm now managing and promoting Logan 'The Wolverine' Howlett. And I've gathered everyone here tonight to offer you an amazing investment opportunity. We're going to be selling ten shares in Logan's boxing contract for only $10,000 each."

"Well, I certainly know a good investment when I hear one. I'll take one share," Scott announced.

The rest of the room fell silent with nobody else jumping at the chance to sponsor a boxer.

An older man who was sitting on the couch directly in front of where Marie was standing was the first to break the awkward silence.

"Marie, I'm sure I speak on behalf of all of us … but I think it's rather distasteful for you to be washing your financial laundry in public."

"Uncle William, that really wasn't necessary," Warren jumped in and said.

William Stryker was the brother of Warren Senior's first wife Olivia and had been vehemently opposed to his marriage to the young woman he'd referred to as 'that little nobody'.

Having said his piece, Stryker rose from his seat and moved toward the bar set up at the far end of the room.

Logan followed him and demanded that he apologize to Marie.

"Marie, keep your animal leashed," he warned. To Logan he said, "I should warn you, boy, I was Special Forces in 'Nam."

"Ooh, I'm scared now," Logan mocked – then landed a quick punch to Stryker's stomach.

The older man doubled over and leaned against Logan who told him, "I just tapped you in the solar plexus … you'll be fine in a minute."

Then he walked away and left Stryker to catch his breath.

Marie found him standing at the water's edge staring out at the darkening horizon.

"Sorry, if I messed up your evening," he said genuinely.

"You didn't. Nobody likes William … we sold all ten shares," she informed him with a smile.

Changing the subject, Logan said, "So what's the story with you and the pretty-boy lawyer?"

"That's really none of your business," she replied gently.

"Okay, then … I'm guessing that you two are lovers who planned to bilk old man Worthington – but your scheme failed when he fled the country, taking all his money with him."

Marie let out a clipped laugh. "Not even close."

"Well, you wouldn't want me to keep believing something that isn't true, would you?" he said challengingly.

She sat down on the sand and patted the space next to her. "Fine. I hope you won't be too disappointed when it's not anywhere near as diabolical as you've imagined."

Logan dropped to the ground and gave her his full attention.

"Once upon a time …" Marie began, "there was a teenager from Meridian, Mississippi whose parents reacted rather badly to the revelation that their only child was a mutant."

Logan gave her a quizzical look.

"You did know I was a mutant?" she asked.

"I thought Worthington hated all of us. Rumor has it that's why his company created the Cure," Logan responded.

"Plantation owners had sex with their slaves and even produced children with them. Some people pick and chose what offends them and where they draw the line with certain groups."

Logan nodded in understanding and Marie added, "Warren had this suppression bracelet commissioned," she raised her left arm to show him the silver-colored band wrapped around her wrist, "and I was the first person to be given one. In retrospect, I've realized that with my mutation under control, he could pretend I wasn't what he despised."

"I'm sorry," Logan offered and reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Marie didn't flinch at the intimate gesture.

"Anyway, back to my story," she said. "I decided to go to Alaska. The cold climate would let me stay covered up without having to explain why."

Again Logan favored her with a puzzled expression.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you what my mutation is," she said in realization. "The easiest way to explain it is that I'm like an energy vampire. I can drain a person's life force just by touching them. If I hold on long enough, I can actually kill them. If that person is also a mutant, I absorb their mutation temporarily."

"Glad you have that bracelet," he said with a smile.

"Me, too," she said – returning the smile. "Now, where was I?"

"On the road to Alaska," Logan offered helpfully.

"I'd made it as far as a small town somewhere in Northern Alberta when I snuck into the trailer attached to a beat-up old truck. A couple of hours later the driver stopped at a roadside diner and discovered his stowaway – which was probably a blessing, because any longer in that open trailer and I likely would've frozen to death. Instead of being mad, he offered to feed me. That kind person was Scott."

Marie took a sip of her champagne and continued, "He told me that he was going to New York City to attend Columbia Law School. We were over a hundred miles east of where I'd hitched a ride in his trailer. After eight months on the road, I was heading in the wrong direction. During dinner I discovered that he was from Alaska. He told me it's colder than I could possibly imagine, that there's only about three hours of daylight in the winter and the job situation is worse than anywhere else in the country. He suggested I chose another destination."

"Let me guess," Logan interrupted. "He offered to take you to New York with him."

"Do you need a grappling hook to climb out of the gutter?" she asked.

"I find it hard to believe that he never attempted to lay a hand on you … unless he's gay."

"Okay… he's not gay. And remember, at that point I had a very dangerous mutation that I couldn't control. So even if he wanted to, it wasn't going to happen."

"A creative guy could've figured out a way around the problem. I'm just saying."

Marie let out a sigh and continued, "We got to New York and for the next few years we lived in a roach-infested walk-up in the Bronx and cut corners wherever we could so that all of our money could go toward his law school tuition. Scott promised that in return he'd always take care of me. When Warren came into my life, he felt like he was no longer relevant."

"He must be thrilled that Worthington let you down so badly and now he's gotta step back in and be your knight in shining armor again," Logan interrupted.

"Scott isn't like that," she said defensively, "and if you actually got to know him, you'd realize that."

Properly chastised, Logan asked, "So how'd you meet Worthington? Doesn't seem like you traveled in the same circles."

"Scott's law professor had been given a couple of tickets to a charity benefit being held at the Met – but as he couldn't attend, he offered them to Scott. We went to Goodwill to find something suitable to wear. Scott lucked out and found a tux that was old-fashioned, but passable and I got the fanciest dress I could buy for $10."

"And at the Ball is where Cinderella met her prince," Logan said.

"He's still a frog … he was just disguised as a prince," Marie laughed. "At first Warren thought I was an heiress from some old-money San Francisco family. He didn't seem too bothered when I corrected that mistake. Looking back now, I think he just wanted a project. He was Professor Henry Higgins to my Eliza Doolittle … or technically in my case, Marie HasNothing. We got married six months later. I conveniently ignored the fact that I was the fourth Mrs. Worthington and his previous wives had all been society women. Of course all his friends felt I was a gold digger – even though I'd voluntarily signed a pre-nup."

"Dead-broke, young, beautiful girl … a whirlwind courtship. I can see why his snotty friends would think you'd married him for his money."

"Well, if I'm a gold digger, apparently I'm not very good at it," Marie huffed indignantly.

Logan shrugged. "You'll still have the money from the sale of your apartment and all the other stuff you're auctioning off. Some people might think that's a pretty decent payout for a couple of years of your time."

"And we're done," Marie snapped as she stood up and marched away from him.


	5. Chapter 5

The Main Event – Chapter Five

Marie refused to speak to Logan for a week. She was a mixture of angry and hurt – that she'd shared her personal story with him and he'd ended up making such a nasty comment. He'd attempted to contact her several times since the cocktail party, but she'd let his calls go straight to voicemail. Even though he sounded genuinely sorry when she eventually listened to the messages, she wasn't quite ready to grant him absolution just yet. For the past couple of years she'd been dealing with the prejudiced assumptions and whispered insinuations of the social circle she'd dared to invade – she didn't want to face those same issues now that she was leaving that privileged world and returning to reality.

Today she was at Sotheby's for the auction of her jewelry. Scott, Warren and Kitty were accompanying her for moral support. It was surreal to see pieces of her life on public display being offered up to the highest bidder. Logan's reference to a juicy payout was still ringing in her ears. While she no longer cared what her husband's snooty friends thought of her, for her own peace of mind, she still wanted to distance herself as much as possible from the gold digger label. Having nice things was certainly a perk, but it wasn't as if she couldn't live without the trappings of wealth. In an effort to step away from the fairly tale that had gone horribly awry, she'd listed the penthouse and her realtor was searching for a more modest two-bedroom in TriBeCa or SoHo.

At first she'd considered donating everything to charity because she felt that any profit from anything her soon-to-be ex-husband had given her was like accepting 'blood money', but had been talked into doing the more sensible thing. Then she'd offered to let Scott and Warren chose a trinket for their girlfriends, but both men had politely declined because neither of them wanted the tainted pieces.

Apparently the people at the auction had no such qualms though. Glancing around the room Marie saw it was filled with the usual contingent of attendees – single professional women in their thirties who were intent on proving they didn't need a man to buy them baubles, middle-aged divorcees who'd been replaced by younger versions of themselves and were anxious to spend their settlements, and older men desperately trying to impress their new trophy wives. Contemplating the last group, she wondered if Warren had looked as ridiculous when he'd taken her shopping for the jewels now on the auction block.

She may have been anxious and nervous, but outwardly she was the picture of calm and serenity. Her hair had been pulled back and styled into a simple knot at the nape of her neck and she wore a classic black Valentino sheath dress. Although her pave diamond wristwatch was Cartier (a birthday gift from Scott and therefore excluded from the sale) the chunky necklace adorning her throat was costume jewelry. The suppression bracelet – on her right wrist today, a pair of black patent leather Ferragamo pumps and a black and white Chanel handbag completed her ensemble.

A few hours later her jewelry collection belonged to other people and she breathed a sigh of relief. On the way to dinner she told Warren that she intended to share the proceeds of the auction and the profit from the sale of the penthouse with him.

"I insist," she said when Warren initially refused her generous offer.

Of all the people in Warren's clique, only Warren Junior had welcomed her warmly and continued to be gracious to her. He knew that despite the gossip, she was actually the only one of his three stepmothers who hadn't made spending his father's money a sporting event. And he also admired that, in spite of her humble beginnings, she always conducted herself with the utmost class. Even his second stepmother, who'd come from a privileged background, had failed to do that – dallying so indiscreetly with her golf instructor and embarrassing his father. Ironically, in the end it was Warren Senior who'd brought the most shame to the family.

Later that evening when Marie returned home the concierge intercepted her as she was making her way through the lobby toward the bank of elevators.

"There's a delivery for you, Mrs. Worthington," she informed her.

As she hadn't been expecting anything that day, Marie was pleasantly surprised when the woman behind the desk gestured to a large clear-glass vase of flowers sitting prettily on the marble counter.

She walked over to the bouquet of pink peonies and lavender hydrangeas and searched for an accompanying card but couldn't find one.

"Hmm, looks like I have a secret admirer."

"Oh, sorry. This came with them," the concierge said and handed her a regular-sized #10 white envelope.

Marie opened it and pulled out a small slip of paper. It was an invoice … that identified the customer.

"Seriously?" she asked nobody in particular as she grabbed the bouquet that she was apparently having to pay for herself and headed toward the elevators.

On the ride up to her apartment she pulled her cell phone out of her handbag and called the person who'd ordered the flower arrangement, and then stuck her with the bill for it.

When he answered the phone, she told him, "I'd like to thank you for the flowers …"

"You're welcome," Logan interrupted before she had a chance to complete the sentence.

"Except, that seeing as I'm paying for them myself, a 'thank you' isn't really necessary," she continued.

"Well, if you're gonna get bogged down in the details."

"Ugh! You're so frustrating to deal with. How does Ororo put up with you?"

"She's leaving," he stated bluntly.

"What did you do?" she inquired.

"I didn't _do_ anything," he replied. "She got a job offer to teach at the Massachusetts Academy in Snow Valley."

"I didn't know that she was a teacher," Marie said in genuine surprise.

"Try and contain your shock that someone who's smart would be with someone like me."

"I just assumed that she was a fight groupie," she responded as she attempted to juggle her handbag, the phone and the large glass vase.

"Right now she's teaching kindergarten at a public school here in Brooklyn, but she used to teach high school history at Xavier's. When I got kicked out, she left with me. It wasn't easy for her to downgrade from a mansion to an over-sized tin can resting on a pile of bricks."

"Oh," was all Marie could say as she realized that while her personal life was splashed across the gossip columns, she really didn't know anything about the people she was currently associating with.

"Anyway," he continued, "the salary they're offering her is three times what she's making here, she gets to interact with mutant kids again and the place is almost as nice as Xavier's. She's got a chance for a better life and I'm not gonna stand in her way."

"Well, you can always visit each other," Marie suggested helpfully as she put the vase down on the floor before she lost her precarious grip on it.

"I don't do the long-distance thing too well," he admitted, his voice tinged with just a hint of sadness.

"I'm sorry," was all she could offer – not sure how someone would comfort a seemingly heartbroken Wolverine.

"I'll be okay," Logan said almost convincingly.

Changing the subject, she asked, "So, are you ready for the match this weekend?"

"No."

"Try and get some rest in the next couple of days. Which means – no drinking and getting into a bar brawl."

"You're just determined to stop me from having any fun, aren't you?"

"Goodbye, Logan … and thank you for the flowers," she said before hanging up.

Erik Lehnsherr wouldn't agree to a meeting until he'd had a chance to see Logan back in action, so the upcoming bout was the most important one so far.

On the night of the match Marie knocked politely on the dressing room door and waited until Wraith opened it and granted her entrance.

Logan was warming up by doing some shadowboxing.

She proudly showed off her black t-shirt that had 'Team Wolverine' emblazoned in Swarovski crystals across the chest.

"I've ordered one for everyone on our team," she announced enthusiatically.

Logan just rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. There was no way in hell that he or any of his posse would be caught stone-cold dead in the blinged out t-shirts.

"That's not what you're wearing?" she asked – observing that he was clad in a pair of shorts that were either light grey or possibly just a really grungy white.

"What's wrong with these?" Logan replied – glancing down and inspecting them.

"They're frayed … and the seam down the middle is starting to unravel."

"So?" he responded, not understanding the big deal and not exactly jonesing for a fight before the actual fight.

"Lehnsherr is here. You can't go out there looking like a … homeless person," she stated – then waved a garment bag, he'd failed to notice had been looped over her arm, at him.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the bag from her and unzipping it.

"Your new outfit, uniform … whatever you call it," she told him.

Logan took out the boxing shorts that she'd chosen. They were gold lamé.

"Please tell me that you're joking," he said as he held the sparkly shorts at arm's length.

"Would you prefer yellow spandex?" she replied slightly sarcastically.

He dropped the offensive garment down onto the concrete floor and proclaimed, "Yeah, this ain't happening."

At that point John Wraith ushered Marie out of the dressing room with the admonishment that everything would be okay. He told her that this wasn't New York Fashion Week and nobody was going to pay attention to what the boxers wore – just how well they pummeled each other. Reluctantly she gave up and made her way to the main arena.

As she dropped down into a hard plastic chair adjacent to the ring she noticed Erik Lehnsherr and his constant companion Raven Darkholme seated in the bleachers on the opposite side. An involuntary shudder ran all through her as his mouth formed into a thin smile and he nodded in her direction. Marie hated the thought of crossing paths with Magneto again, but if Logan wanted to compete legitimately, she'd have to tamp down her fear and deal with him.

She didn't have time to give any more thought to their last encounter as the two boxers entered the arena from opposite tunnels. Logan gave her a flirtatious wink as he climbed into the ring. Wraith sat down on the stool next to Marie's chair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's match," the ring announcer declared into the hanging microphone – his voice echoing throughout the smoke-filled space. "In this corner – we have Logan 'The Wolverine' Howlett." He paused for a heartbeat to allow the crowd to respond. There was some loud cheering, which made Marie smile. "And in this corner," the announcer continued, "we have Cain 'The Juggernaut' Marko." The crowd started booing.

It was at that moment that Marie finally noticed the size disparity between Logan and his opponent. She turned to Wraith and gave him a worried look.

"He just has to wear him out," Wraith told her.

The sound of the bell indicating the start of the first round cut short any further discussion about Logan's strategy.

Wraith did a quick visual survey of the crowd, checking for friends and foes. He saw that Logan's personal cheering section consisted of Pete, Gambit and Pyro – representing the Rocko's Gym contingent and in the row above them, Scott, an elegant-looking blonde that he didn't recognize and finally, Warren Junior and his girlfriend Kitty. Three rows above them he saw a young woman wearing a bright yellow leather jacket. Jubilation Lee – from the X-Men. No doubt in attendance to report back to Xavier. He wondered if Charles was merely curious about Logan's return to the ring, or genuinely worried.

Three minutes later Logan was staggering back towards his corner.

"Where's the fucking stool?" he demanded as John began to pat at him with a wet sponge.

As his 'corner person' it was Marie's job to make sure he had a place to sit between rounds, but the spot where it should've been was currently empty.

"Oops. Sorry," she said as she pushed the small stool under the bottom rope and onto the canvas. Logan dropped down onto the piece of wood with a ceremonious thud.

Wraith offered him a bottle of water. Taking a slug, he swirled the cold liquid around in his mouth and then turned to spit it back out - except Marie had also forgotten to place the bucket in the ring. Wraith noticed him gesturing wildly and offered him a styrofoam cup instead.

Once the mouthful of water had been spat out, Logan shouted at Marie, "You only have a couple of damn responsibilities … the stool and the spit bucket. Pay attention, or go and sit down with your friends."

"Well, first I have to empty it," she snapped back as she picked up the small metal pail. Then reaching out to tug at his waistband, she proceeded to dump its contents – a few pounds of ice cubes – into his shorts.

The bell rang and Logan went roaring out of his corner and in his rage managed to take Marko down in a minute and a half. The crowd went wild.


	6. Chapter 6

Erik Lehnsherr must've been suitably impressed by Logan's match with Juggernaut because the next day he contacted Wraith and granted them an audience.

On the day of the meeting Marie was already waiting outside the office tower at the corner of West 70th Street and Riverside Boulevard that housed the Brotherhood's headquarters when Wraith and Logan arrived.

"Why didn't you wait in the lobby?" Logan asked her – as it was raining and not a light mist, but a clothes-soaking kind of downpour. He and Wraith were both drenched from their run from the train station three blocks away.

"I'm fine. I like the rain and I've been wanting an excuse to use my new umbrella," she replied as she twirled the black umbrella with the intertwined white C's. Her white trench coat was accented by a black silk scarf – also with the Chanel logo printed on it. The ensemble was completed with black high-heeled boots and a black quilted Chanel handbag with a gold chain strap. Her hair was tied back in a simple knot, but a few strands of platinum had escaped and were being blown around her face and her cheeks were flushed pink from the cool wind.

Even though Logan thought she was a pain in his ass most of the time, he couldn't deny how beautiful she was. He favored her with a smile – a real one, not the cocky one he used on fight groupies.

"Okay, let's get inside before we all get pneumonia," Wraith suggested as he ushered them both toward the oversized glass doors.

Once they were safely out of the rain he and Logan both tried to shake off as much of the water as they could while Marie did the same – albeit a bit more daintly – with her umbrella. Both men started walking toward the bank of elevators that would take them up to Erik's office on the top floor of the building, but Marie hesitated. Logan stopped when he realized she wasn't moving.

"You are coming to this meeting, right?" he asked jokingly.

She noticeably took a deep breath and replied, "Of course." But she didn't sound very convincing.

Wraith and Logan exchanged puzzled looks.

"I'm fine," she reassured them.

"Okay," Logan said and resumed walking across the lobby. But Marie still didn't move, so he strode back over to her.

Before he had a chance to question her about her apparent reluctance to actually attend the meeting she'd campaigned so hard to arrange, she manuevered around him and started to proceed toward the elevators.

On the ride up he noticed that she was visibly shaking. When he gently touched her arm reassuringly and asked if she was okay, she claimed she was still a little cold from being outside. The look he gave her made her realize that he wasn't buying it.

"You owe me an explanation," he whispered to her as they stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of the Brotherhood. She just nodded in acquiescence.

The receptionist informed them that Mr. Lehnsherr's assistant would be along soon to escort them to his office and asked them to take a seat. Noticing that Marie was still trembling, Logan requested a cup of coffee for her.

"Could you make that tea, please?" she requested as she took off the scarf and removed her trench coat to reveal the deep plum-colored sheath dress she wore beneath it. Looped around her neck was a long string of pearls with the Chanel C's intermittently threaded throughout the strand. The silver suppression bracelet was on her right wrist and on her left was a Harry Winston watch – its face and bezel encrusted with deep purple sapphires. As usual, she looked perfect.

"Sure. Would you like …," the receptionist replied and then proceeded to rattle off a variety of teas, "Earl Grey, Breakfast, Oolong …"

"Something herbal, if you have it," Marie interrupted.

"Wild Orange Blossom, Honeybush Vanilla, Sweet Fruit Garden …"

"The orange one," Marie broke in again, "With a splash of non-fat milk, please."

"Of course. Gentlemen, can I offer you something while you're waiting?" the young woman asked.

"Not unless you've got anything a lot stronger than coffee or tea," Logan said hopefully.

"Sorry. The hard stuff is in Mr. Lehnsherr's office," she replied.

"Then we're good," Wraith told her.

"Okay, then it's just one herbal tea," she said and pressed the intercom, "Calisto, would you bring a cup of Orange Blossom tea with just a hint of non-fat milk to the lobby."

"Thank you," Marie told her.

A few minutes later a dark-haired young woman appeared at the receptionist's desk and was directed to where Logan, Wraith and Marie were sitting. She walked over to them and offered the cup and saucer to Marie.

"Thank you," she said politely as she took it from her. Marie recognized the Royal Doulton Platinum Silk as she had a dinner set with the same china pattern at home – a wedding gift from one of Warren's business associates. Lehnsherr apparently had exquisite and expensive taste.

A half an hour later they were still sitting there, so while the soothing tea initially helped to calm her nerves, the waiting was being to negate its affect. She wasn't sure if Erik was playing his usual mindgames and making them wait in an effort to establish his control over their meeting or he was genuinely delayed unexpectedly. She'd bet decent money on the former.

Another fifteen minutes passed before a blonde woman Marie recognized as Raven Darkholme finally appeared. The trio stood up, glad to finally be doing something besides just sitting there.

"Hello, Marie," she offered in greeting as she looked the younger woman up and down, "You're looking well. I like what you've done with your hair."

Marie visibly blanched and Logan placed his hand on the small of her back. She looked up and gave him a nervous smile.

Raven let out a small laugh and turned to walk away. "Follow me," she instructed.

She led them into a large expensively decorated corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular view of the Hudson River.

Erik was seated in a dark brown leather chair behind an oversized mahogany desk. He didn't bother standing up to greet his visitors.

"Marie, how lovely to see you again," he said – the sneer in his voice obvious.

"Magneto," she replied succinctly.

Wraith and Logan exchanged mystified looks as they didn't wait for an invitation to sit and dropped down into the chairs in front of the desk. Marie hesistated for a heartbeat before sitting down to Logan's right.

"John Wraith," Wraith started to introduce himself.

"Yes, I'm aware of who you are," Erik interrupted. "All of you," he added with a malevolent smile aimed directly at Marie.

Logan glanced over at her and shot her a look that she knew meant he'd want a full explantion about her apparently contentious relationship with these people.

Bypassing any further small talk, Erik cut right to the chase and asked what they expected him to do for them.

"Everyone's looking for the next great hope," Marie started to say, "Well … he's not that great and there's not much hope – but look at him."

"Looks pretty good to me," Raven offered and licked her lips.

Despite Raven's covergirl appearance, there was still something off-putting about her and Logan shuddered.

"The fight crowd doesn't care if a boxer is nice to look at," Erik stated.

"I know that," Marie replied, "But Logan could attract a whole new demographic."

"You wouldn't have to drag me to those awful matches," Raven informed him.

"Tell him about the other idea you have," Wraith suggested.

"Yes, by all means, do share. I love a good plan," Erik said wickedly.

"Too bad your most important one failed so miserably," Marie said sarcastically.

Erik shot her a withering look that chilled Logan's blood. He decided that once they got a decent distance from this office, he'd insist she tell him the whole story about her connection with these assholes.

Not wanting the meeting to get derailed, Wraith said, "We think there should be a rematch between Logan and Creed."

"I'm listening," Erik replied – noticeably interested in the suggestion.

"We could promote it as The Fight That Never Was," Marie told him.

They spent the next half hour hashing out a deal and left with a contract for Scott to peruse and approve. As Wraith was meeting some friends for a night of bar crawling, he said his good-byes and left Logan and Marie on the sidewalk in front of Lehnsherr's building.

"I thought you'd want to go with him," Marie said as she stepped over to the curb in preparation to hail a cab.

"You're not getting out of it that easily," Logan replied.

"Getting out of what?" she asked – feigning innocence.

"You know what …" he said, "The thing between you and Mr. Creepy and Cruella De Bitchy."

"Oh that."

"Yes, that."

"Okay, I'll tell you what happened, but I'm starving – so let's go and get something to eat."

While he'd made an attempt to 'dress up' for their meeting with Erik, he was still wearing jeans – although they weren't faded or torn like most of his other pairs – along with a cream-colored henley shirt and a well-worn brown leather jacket. "I'm not exactly dressed for somewhere with linen tablecloths, fancy china and glassware that probably costs more than I earn in a month," he pointed out to her.

"Don't worry, you're fine," Marie reassured him and started walking east on 70th Street toward Central Park.

In two strides, he'd caught up to her. Luckily it was no longer raining and the late afternoon air was crisp but not biting like it had been earlier.

At Broadway, they made a left and started heading north. A couple of minutes later Marie came to a halt and Logan saw they were standing in front of Gray's Papaya – a restaurant famous for their inexpensive hot dogs.

"You actually eat here?" he asked in astonishment. Marie was such a bundle of contradictions and it kept catching him off-guard.

"I told you that most of my life here in New York has been spent living in a bug-infested place in the Bronx. I didn't move to my fancy place in Manhattan until a couple of years ago. Back when Scott was still a poor law school student and I was a hotel maid, out of sheer necessity, we learned where all the best cheap places were. And even then, eating out depended on how much loose change we'd accumulated in the big glass jar on the kitchen counter."

"You're so damn elegant, I keep forgetting that you haven't been an Upper East Side rich bitch your whole life."

"I can inhale a side of beef and belch up a hoof," she said jokingly.

"I'd like to see you do that at one of those swanky fundraising events."

Marie started laughing – then she turned to go into the restaurant. At the counter she addressed the man waiting to take their order. "Hi, Wade."

"Hey, Marie. The usual?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied, then turning to Logan she informed him, "Chili Cheese Dog with extra onions." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'll have the same – but six of them, plus a large order of fries and a Coke," he told Wade.

As they sat eating their dinner and making small talk, Logan broached the subject of Marie's history with Erik and Raven.

She took a long slurp of her papaya drink and then began.

"Here's a tidbit that will be important later. Scott's mutation is that his eyes emit a powerful energy beam … or optic blast. It's kept in check by the ruby-red quartz glasses that he always wears. He has some mastery, but Warren's company has a visor that should enable him to have more focused control. Dr. Hank McCoy still has a few more adjustments to tweek and then it should be ready."

"Optic blasts … some control. Got it," Logan said.

"When Scott was at Columbia there was a student group of mutants who used to get together to socialize and later, campaign against the Mutant Registration Act. One month Erik Lehnsherr was the guest speaker. We assumed he was going to give the usual rah-rah speech about how wonderful our *gifts* were … blah, blah, blah. But instead he told us about his imprisonment in a concentration camp in Europe during World War II. He ranted about humans and how he'd never allow himself to be registered ever again – and how we must be the dominant species if we were to survive. Then as a show of solidarity, he got us all to reveal our gifts. None of us realized that he was looking for someone with a very specific mutation."

Marie took a pause to take another sip of her drink and then continued, "Do you remember the incident seven years ago with the world leaders at that conference on Ellis Island?" she asked.

"Yeah," Logan replied, "Some sort of weird energy wave radiated out from the Statue of Liberty and then just stopped before it hit land."

"That was Erik … or as he's known within the underground mutant community – Magneto. He built a device that would warp the genes in humans and turn them into mutants – figuring they'd have more empathy once they were like us."

"And where do you fit into all this?"

"I'm getting there," she replied. "As you know, Erik's gift is the ability to manipulate metal. He used that as the machine's energy source. But testing it severly weakened him – infact, it almost killed him. In order to power the machine long enough to send the shockwave out far enough to be effective, he needed someone younger who could withstand the drain on their body's lifeforce."

"So he used your mutation to transfer his gift to you," Logan said in realization.

"Yup. He turned me into a real life Energizer Bunny."

"Why would you volunteer for something like that?"

"I didn't say anything about volunteering," Marie replied. "One night there was a soft knock on the door. I figured Scott had just forgotten his key …again. So I opened the door without hesitation and found myself face-to-face with Victor Creed and the one who calls herself Raven Darkholme but is better known as Mystique. Victor grabbed a hold of me as Mystique plunged a syringe into my neck. When I woke up I was strapped into Erik's contraption that had been placed in Lady Liberty's torch. Somewhere along the way, for some unknown reason – but would later be their plans undoing, they'd also captured Scott who fought with everything he had, but Victor was way too strong for him."

Once again, Marie paused to take another sip of her drink.

"Erik transferred his gift to me and then forced me to power the machine which consisted of spinning metal rings. The energy flowing through me is what caused the two white streaks in my hair."

"I thought it was a fashion statement," Logan said.

"Uh no," she replied. "Anyway, Victor was so enthralled with the light show that he loosened his grip on Scott, who managed to wrench himself free and blast him into the river. He then trained his optic beam on Erik and knocked him over. Mystique rushed over to help him. That left Scott free to aim a blast at the spinning rings – destroying them, which stopped the machine and the energy wave. The flashing lights of the approaching Harbor Patrol was enough to scare Erik and Mystique and they took off before they could be captured."

"How'd you two explain what you were doing on Liberty Island so late at night?" Logan asked.

"We told them that we were just a couple of dumb tourists who'd missed the last ferry boat and got stuck there – and they bought it. Luckily for us, we didn't look like criminal masterminds capable of such a stunt."

"I'm sorry he hurt you," Logan said simply as he reached over and tucked a wayward strand of platinum behind her ear. It was the second time he'd done that – and like the first time, she didn't blanch at such an innocent but intimate gesture. Instead, she looked at him with eyes the color of melted chocolate and at that moment he felt as if could see right into her soul – which sparked something in him that he thought had been lost forever.

They took a cab back to Marie's building and Logan gallantly escorted her into the lobby. Even though the incident with Lehnsherr had been a long time ago and Summers seemed perfectly capable of protecting her, he still felt an uncharacteristic need to guard her from further harm. Another first for him.

At the elevator, she thanked him for seeing her home and bid him goodnight. He thanked her for dinner, said goodnight and turned to leave. Then he shifted back around, reached out and pulled her toward him, leaned down and gently kissed her. Instead of pushing him away as he expected, she returned the kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

The Main Event – Chapter seven

Scott approved the contract with Lehnsherr and Xavier agreed to the rematch – so everything was set for the following month, which would allow time for promoting the fight.

Logan was busy training and working out – but not consumed enough that he hadn't noticed Marie's absence at the gym. Although he'd never admit it to anyone, he actually missed her sitting ringside – giving him instructions from whatever boxing manual she'd discovered that week. Once, he'd jokingly told her that he wouldn't be offended if she went back to reading Cosmopolitan – although not aloud to him. They'd had no contact since the kiss in the lobby. The kiss that had practically incinerated both of them – its heat was that intense. A week later it seemed as if his lips were only just now cooling off. Kissing had never been Logan's 'thing'; he'd always felt it was more intimate than the sex act itself. He'd done his share, of course, but usually without any real energy put into it. But with Marie, it was natural and effortless. As with all things related to her, he was confused by his reaction.

So while she hadn't made an appearance, unfortunately Scott did. He wasn't sure what it was about the man that rubbed him the wrong way – because he really had no valid excuse to dislike him – he just did. Logan refused to consider it might have something to do with his history with Marie – even though he believed her that they'd never been anything more than just friends. But at least Summers had brought along his girlfriend Emma, a stunning blonde who always seemed to be dressed in white – the same way Jubilee favored yellow.

When he noticed Emma he automatically started showing off a little and then stopped himself – because for some reason he felt like he was somehow cheating on Marie. Another first to be added to a rapidly growing list.

Scott had stopped by because he wanted to discuss Marie's idea for Logan to spend the week leading up to the rematch training in Lake Placid. Something about the higher altitude being conducive to better cardio workouts. He and Scott had a brief bonding moment when they both agreed that she was probably just looking for an excuse to ski at the nearby Whiteface Ski Resort. Logan didn't care. He'd get a free vacation out of the deal and most importantly; he'd get to see Marie again.

Two more weeks passed. Marie was still noticeably absent from Rocko's with no personal communication from her either. Warren Junior had become the appointed liaison – attending a few training sessions and reporting back to her.

They didn't come face-to-face until the day they were leaving for Logan's temporary training camp.

Wraith and Logan were already aboard the private jet when the black limo drove onto the tarmac and glided to a halt near the stairway. Not bothering to wait for the chauffeur to open the passenger door, Marie got out and then waited patiently for him to retrieve her luggage from the trunk. She was dressed casually in a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans tucked into light brown low-heeled suede boots and a caramel-colored short leather jacket that was open to reveal a simple cream-colored t-shirt. The only visible sign of any wealth was the Louis Vuitton tote that was slung over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and her eyes were shielded by a pair of Bvlgari sunglasses with Swarovski crystal flowers on the temples. She could give the other women of the Upper East Side lessons in how to be effortlessly chic.

Even though he was a little worried about seeing her again – wondering if she'd want to talk about the kiss or pretend it never happened, Logan found his excitement overrode his anxiety. Wraith noticed him smiling and fidgeting nervously and let out a small chuckle, but pretended the article he was reading in his magazine was the reason for his amusement. In all the years he'd known Logan, Wraith had never seen him quite this … giddy over a woman. He hoped Marie felt the same way because he wasn't sure how he'd deal with his friend if it were unrequited love. He couldn't remember ever witnessing Logan emotionally wounded. Mad – yes. Which usually led to things being broken. When he got fired from the X-Men, the antique grandfather clock in the main foyer of Xavier's mansion didn't survive to be passed down to the next generation.

Marie finally appeared in the entrance to the cabin and made her way toward them. She seemed a tad agitated. Wraith wondered if she was a nervous flyer like Logan, or simply anxious about seeing him again.

Taking a seat directly across from them, she simply said, "Hi."

"Thanks for arranging the fancy ride," Wraith said in attempt to break the ice.

"Only small planes can use the airport at Lake Placid, so this was more of a necessity than a luxury," she replied in explanation.

"Works for me," Wraith told her.

The hatch was closed and the jet began to move. Marie noticed Logan's white-knuckle grip on the armrest of his seat.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Logan's not thrilled about flying," Wraith interjected.

"It's not the flying … it's the crashing," he said – still not loosening his grip on the armrest.

"Tell him that small private jets are safer than the big commercial ones," Wraith suggested to Marie.

"No, that's not necessarily true," she replied, "Smaller body counts just don't make national news."

"You're not helping," Logan said – beginning to turn a pale shade of green and they weren't even airborne yet.

Marie had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. She knew that she shouldn't be making fun of his fear, but it was somewhat refreshing to realize that he wasn't completely invulnerable.

The hour and a half trip was uneventful – Marie read a fashion magazine, Wraith played a game on his cell phone and Logan pretended to sleep. They landed smoothly in Lake Placid where a black SUV was waiting to take them to their temporary residence. Marie was actually staying at the Crowne Plaza Resort on Olympic Boulevard, so she was dropped off first.

"Send the driver back for me in two hours," she instructed as she got out and started to follow the bellman that was pulling a trolley containing her two oversized suitcases toward the lobby.

"What is it with women and all their crap?" Wraith said after the SUV's door was closed.

"Don't even attempt to figure them out, you'll just hurt yourself," Logan suggested.

Their next stop was the Alpine Vacation Rentals where Team Wolverine would be setting up camp. Pyro, Gambit and Pete were already there when Wraith and Logan arrived, having driven in the day before to set up some workout equipment and a makeshift ring. Wraith would be joining the three men in the two-bedroom house, while Logan was going to have the studio cottage all to himself.

It took Logan less than five minutes to dump out the contents of his green duffel bag, shove his clothes into a couple of the dresser drawers and put his toiletries in the bathroom. He knew he ought to do at least a quick workout, but decided to take a nap instead because he'd faked sleeping on the jet and actually was exhausted. Outside his friends were engaged in a rowdy snowball fight. As he drifted off to sleep he heard Gambit yelling something about kicking Pyro's ass for stuffing the snowballs with rocks.

It was dark outside by the time Logan woke up and made his way over to the guy's cabin where dinner was going to be served.

Marie was already there – sitting on an ottoman by the roaring fire – engaged in conversation with Gambit. Logan's skin prickled as he caught snatches of dialogue and realized that LeBeau was blatantly flirting. He suppressed the urge to march over to them, grab the Cajun by the throat and toss him through the nearest window. Marie failing to immediately notice his presence in the room did nothing to quell his anger. But when she finally did look up and see him and favor him with a bright smile, his irritation quickly dissipated. He didn't want to rush over to her, like an overeager puppy begging for attention, so he simply nodded his head in acknowledgment and returned the smile.

Marie patted Gambit on the shoulder in dismissal, stood up and walked toward Logan. She'd changed from her traveling outfit into a pair of faded jeans and a pale pink cashmere sweater. Her hair was now tied in a knot at the nape of her neck and the only jewelry she had on besides the ever-present suppression bracelet, was a silver necklace with her name in cursive script and a tiny diamond forming the dot of the letter 'i'.

Trying to think of something innocuous to say, when he'd never really been too skillful at small talk, he finally settled on, "Pretty necklace."

"Twenty-first birthday gift from Scott," she replied.

Scott! Was there anything in her life that didn't connect back to him? They're just friends, Logan quickly reminded himself – and he's got a hot girlfriend anyway.

"Don't be jealous," Marie said with a knowing smile – as if reading his mind.

Logan momentarily wondered if she had a secondary mutation that she'd failed to mention to him.

"Who, me?" he replied with a smirk.

Any further discussion was interrupted by the announcement that dinner was ready.

At the table Marie sat there demurely waiting for someone to be polite and offer her something, unaware that eating with this crew meant grab it or go hungry. Serving platters piled high with food were passed around – whizzing right past her. She ended up with a measly scoop of mashed potatoes and a spoonful of peas. Logan refrained from laughing as he saw her – fork poised over her plate – ready to stab a pea. Using his own fork, he transferred a chicken breast from his overflowing plate to her nearly empty one.

"Thank you," she offered quietly.

Dinner conversation was mostly about sports and some uncensored bragging about their latest bedroom conquests – until Logan reminded them that there was a lady present. She jokingly offered an apology for ruining their locker-room discussion. The evening wound down with bottles of hard liquor for the guys and a cup of hot cocoa for Marie.

When she phoned the driver to come back for her, he informed her that the flash rain and quick freeze earlier in the evening had coated the road leading to the cabins with black ice, making it too dangerous to traverse. Which meant she was stuck there for the night.

Wraith offered her a brand-new extra toothbrush he had in his toiletries bag and Pyro said she could borrow one of his shirts. Pete, who was rooming with Gambit, volunteered to sleep on the couch so that she could have his bed. Logan wasn't too thrilled that she'd be staying in the men's cabin – especially in LeBeau's room, but didn't want to risk the certain gossip of suggesting that she stay with him. Reluctantly he said "goodnight" and returned to his own cottage.

An hour later there was a gentle knocking on his door. He opened it to find Marie standing there shivering in nothing but Pyro's shirt and a pair of gray leather boots.

Not even bothering to ask her why she was inadequately dressed for running around outside in the freezing night air, he simply took a hold of her arm and pulled her into the warmth of the cottage. Ushering her over to roaring fire, he left her just long enough to grab a blanket – which he then wrapped around her shoulders.

"You do realize there are wild animals in these woods."

"The ones in the other cabin aren't so tame," Marie said between chattering teeth.

"What did they do?" Logan barked – prepared to charge over there and kick some asses.

"Nothing," she reassured him. "They're just acting like overgrown frat boys and I'm not used to the crudeness – that's all."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "They didn't touch you …"

Marie held up her hand to interrupt him. "I'm fine. My honor is still intact."

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," she replied as she moved away from the heat of the fire and sat on the little couch. She pulled off her boots and tossed them aside, then curled her legs beneath her and rearranged the blanket so that it was draped over her lap.

Logan filled a glass with amber-colored liquid before sitting down beside her.

"Drink this," he instructed as he handed her the glass.

"What is it?" she asked as she took it from him and sniffed it.

"Brandy," he replied as he sat down next to her. "It'll warm you from the inside."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Do I have to?" he asked with a smirk and lift of one eyebrow.

She didn't answer him; instead she just smiled and took a small sip of the delicious smelling liquor. "Ooh – that kinda burns."

"Take it easy … remember, you're just an amateur," he reminded her.

Abruptly changing the subject, she asked, "Logan, do you think I'm pretty?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"I'm just trying to figure out why Warren left me," she said quietly.

"Worthington is a moron as well as an asshole for walking out on you."

"I know Jean is more sophisticated than me, but I tried to be the perfect socialite. I really did," she said, her voice choked with emotion and her eyes filling with tears.

"Well, that's probably because you're missing the Snob Gene."

"Fooled you pretty good," she reminded him.

"Look, I know we had a crappy start," Logan began, "but the truth is, you're not only the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, you're also the best person I've ever met."

One lone tear escaped and slid down her cheek. Logan reached over and wiped it away with his thumb.

"Warren is not the last man you're ever going to love," he promised.

She nodded in defeated agreement, dabbed at her eyes with the corner of the blanket and then asked, "Can I stay here tonight?"

Logan swallowed hard and replied, "Sure."

With a quiet "thanks", she put her head down onto the arm of the couch and pulled the blanket up higher, but Logan insisted that she take the bed and he'd sleep on the sofa.

Once she was snuggled under the fluffy white comforter, he switched off the table lamp – leaving the fire as the room's only source of light and attempted to arrange his 6' 4" frame on the small couch. He kept shifting around – trying to decide if he wanted to curl into a fetal position or have his long legs dangling over the arm.

Marie watched him struggle to find a comfortable position and felt guilty that she'd commandeered his bed.

"I can share," she offered – lifting the comforter in invitation.

Logan didn't need to be asked twice. He crossed the small space between the couch and the bed, removed his jeans – leaving him in just a t-shirt and a pair of boxers – and was under the comforter in record time.

"Well, goodnight," he said casually as he turned his back to her.

"Goodnight," she replied and Logan smiled to himself at the obvious disappointment in her voice.

A couple of minutes later she sat up and reached over him to the water jug sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He rolled from his side onto his back and looked up at her.

"This is not a pass," she informed him as she poured herself a glass. "It's just thirst."

"Thirst," Logan repeated in amusement.

She took a big gulp and said, "Hmm – that's good." And then reached over him again to put the glass back onto his nightstand.

"Sweet dreams," he told her and closed his eyes, even though she was still lingering over him.

"You, too," she replied as she turned over and put her head down on her pillow. She didn't, however, scoot all the way back to her side of the bed and her delicate little bottom was pressed up against his hip.

Logan rolled over onto his side so they were now spooning, slid his right arm over her side and gently put his hand on her stomach. Marie snuggled in closer and sighed. He moved his hand to sweep her hair to one side and then leaned down and brushed his lips over her neck. When she shifted around to face him, he captured her mouth in a soft kiss.

"I thought fighters weren't supposed to have sex while training for a big match?"

"I've always been a rule breaker," he replied before bestowing another, more heated kiss on her.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Even though I've had this chapter done for a while, I debated on whether or not to post it because a couple of people seemed happy that I wasn't going to include a love scene. But I'm hoping the ones who do like more in-depth love scenes outweigh the ones who don't. So I guess this serves as a warning to those of you who'd prefer not to read a chapter that's rated M. I've changed the story's overall rating to reflect the content of this chapter.

* * *

><p>Logan continued his slow exploration of her mouth and Marie was kissing him back now, her smaller tongue stroking his. His right hand was threaded through her silky hair while his left was doing a slow rub of her back. Her hands were pressed against his chest, perfectly still at first and then slowly she started exploring the planes and angles with curiosity as Logan felt himself harden. He slowly eased his left hand around to the front of her body and up until he brushed the bottom her breast. He rubbed his thumb in circles until he reached her nipple and continued the circular motion feeling the nipple harden into a tight bud. He broke the kiss and looked down at her – she looked back at him with hooded brown eyes glazed with desire. He bent back down and started giving her feathery kisses on her lips, while his hands went to the top button of her shirt and undid it. She looked down at what he was doing, then back up to his face and his hands paused.<p>

"Don't stop," she told him.

He undid the remaining buttons and spread the shirt apart to reveal a pair of black lace panties and perfect braless breasts. He peeled the shirt off and tossed it onto the floor then paused for a moment, silently taking in the view.

"God, Marie." Was all he was able to choke out.

In a voice husky with passion she asked, "Do you want me?"

"Yes. God help me, yes."

She pressed against him and whispered softly against his chest, "Good, because I want you, too."

Again, Logan kissed her softly. He stripped off his t-shirt and even though she'd seen him bare-chested many times, she still caught her breath at the magnificent sight of his broad hairy chest. She shuddered with anticipation; every nerve ending was achingly raw.

He started conducting a gentle exploration of her body with just the pads of his fingers. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations of his caressing touch. She reached up with her right hand to his chest and gently massaged it with her fingertips, while her left hand did a slow rub of the solid muscles of his upper right arm. Logan let out a soft moan then leaned down and kissed her throat at the pulse point as Marie tipped her head back slightly to give him better access.

His hands moved up her ribcage and he began to gently massage her breasts while she ran her hands up and down his muscular arms. Next he bent his head down and lightly kissed first one breast and then the other.

Marie moaned, "Oh, God - that feels so good."

He pulled the bud of one rosy nipple into his mouth and sucked gently while his thumb ran lazy circles over the other one. After a while he switched – giving equal time to the other nipple.

Marie trailed her hand down his washboard stomach following the path of hair to where it disappeared into his boxers and then brushed her hand over the front of the cotton fabric until she came to his cock. She ran her hand up and down the outline of his erection and let out a delighted gasp.

She gingerly slipped her hand under the waistband of the boxers and moved it down until she touched the bare skin of his cock. It was so warm to the touch. She caressed it lovingly, stroking it gently and he let out another low moan. She removed her hand long enough to use both her hands to push the boxers off completely; with a toss they joined her shirt on the floor and she returned her attention back to his cock.

Logan meanwhile was moving his hand down her stomach and onto the little patch of material between her legs. He smiled when he discovered the fabric was damp. He slipped a finger under the lace and ran it over her mound and felt her shudder slightly. He shifted down and kissed her through the fabric and then hooking his fingers onto either side of the flimsy material he slowly peeled the panties down and they joined the little heap littering the floor.

Next he started a slow massage of her inner thighs working his fingers in circles gradually moving his hands upwards. He pushed her thighs apart gently and bent his head down to taste her, running his tongue slowly over the outer lips of her labia and then over her clit. Marie raised her hips off the bed moaning and whimpering as he continued his oral assault on her while she wriggled frantically beneath him.

"Yes, yes, yes." She was drowning in sensation. "Oh, my God. Don't … ever … stop."

He continued to lick at her slowly and deliberately until she went over the edge in a searing orgasm.

She slowly came down and still vibrating, simply panted, "Wow."

Logan slowly kissed his way up her body and up onto her neck until his mouth was by her ear.

"You taste fantastic," he whispered softly.

Marie just whimpered.

"Now it's your turn," she told him.

She pushed him onto his back. He placed both hands under his head and grinned at her naughtily.

She started on his fabulous chest, dropping feathery kisses all over it and then languishingly moved down his body. Not hesitating when she got to his cock, she gave the tip a quick lick. She then swirled her tongue in slow circles around the head before opening her mouth and taking him inside and sucking gently as he released a low hiss of pleasure. He was tempted to thrust up into mouth, but wanting the sensation to last, he allowed her to set the rhythm. She licked and sucked at him until he thought he'd explode. When she took him all the way down her throat, he finally gave up his hanging-by-a-thread control and spilled himself in a burst of warm liquid, which she politely swallowed.

"Damn, that felt good," he finally managed to get out.

Logan shifted so that he was now over Marie. He pushed her legs apart and reached down to maneuver himself until the head of his cock was at her entrance. Holding onto her hips, he entered her slowly. She wrapped her legs around him and he slipped in a little further. His mouth sought hers as his cock drove into her with another thrust. Marie raised her hips as he sunk in to the hilt; the sensation of being filled completely was incredible. Their mouths were fused in a heated embrace as he slowly started to move, creating a deliberate, but steady thrusting motion, maneuvering so that with every lunge his cock was sending ripples of pleasure through her as she quivered and moaned. He increased the pace of his thrusts the more she writhed beneath him.

"Oh God. Oh God," she cried as she moved about.

"Oh yeah, that feels good," Logan panted as he pistoned into her with frantic urgency.

"Yes, so good," she whimpered in agreement.

He increased the tempo of his thrusts while making little gutteral noises low in his throat. Marie pressed kisses to his neck as he strained above her. She then kissed along his jawline and up onto his face, capturing his mouth for a ravenous kiss. Logan was without a doubt a first-rate kisser and Marie's senses went into overdrive as they licked at each other passionately.

She felt the orgasm build and clasped her legs around him even tighter as Logan, near the edge himself, rocked into her harder. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy surged through her as they moved together so perfectly. Crying out his name as she fell over the edge, he exploded in his own climax only mere seconds later. They collapsed against each other, drenched in sweat and panting.

"Oh my God, that was incredible," she proclaimed.

"Yeah, that was pretty amazing," Logan concurred as he drew her against him and nuzzled her neck.

Wrapped in each other's arms they fell asleep in the warm glow of the fire.

When Logan woke up the next morning, the cabin was noticeably colder – and emptier. Marie was not in the space next to him, or anywhere in the room.

He was just swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching for his discarded boxers when the front door opened and she came in carrying a tray.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she addressed him as she closed the door behind her.

"Thought you'd Coyote Uglied me," he replied as he stood up to put his underwear on and then scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair.

"What?" she asked, having never heard that particular expression.

"Not sure of the exact definition," Logan started to explain as he dropped back down onto the bed, "but it's something to do with being sorry you had sex with someone and chewing off your arm to escape from them while they slept."

Marie just laughed. "Still got both arms," she noted as she sat down next to him and put the tray between them. It contained two cups of coffee and a plate of toast. She offered him a triangle of toast. "Hope you like orange marmalade."

"Yeah, that's fine," he said as he took the toast from her and inhaled it in two bites.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Marie took one of the cups and sipped at her coffee.

"About last night," Logan said as he reached for the other cup.

"Oh," was all Marie could offer – suddenly feeling more vulnerable and exposed than when she'd been naked and writhing beneath him. She wasn't sure what he was about to say – or even what she wanted to hear.

"When we're apartment hunting, let's make sure we look at places that are pet friendly because I'd really like to get a puppy."

Okay – that was **not** what she was expecting.

"Excuse me," she said – still mystified.

"Our place," he said.

"Our place?" she repeated, but as a question – not a statement.

"Well … I thought after … you know," he said with a nod of his head to the tangle of sheets.

Apparently Logan was the one making assumptions, which perplexed her.

"Oh," she said – at a loss for words.

A look came over Logan's face as he suddenly realized that they weren't on the same page.

"Guess you did Coyote Ugly me after all," he said despondently.

"No … I just …" Marie started to stammer – but the right words were failing her.

While she didn't want to be relegated to the status of fight groupie – screwed and discarded, she wasn't exactly prepared to be permanently marked either.

"I suppose next you'll be telling me I still owe you all that money."

This time it was Marie's turn to be tactless as she blurted out, "That just cost me $250,000 – are you kidding?"

Logan stood up sharply and said, "I'll win that damn fight and get you you're fucking money – and then we never have to see each other again!" And then he stormed across the room, went into the bathroom and slammed the door. In a burst of tears, Marie fled from the cabin.


	9. Chapter 9

Logan wasn't too surprised when he came back out of the bathroom and discovered that he was alone again. It hadn't even taken the whole five minutes he'd stood under the spray of the cold shower for him to realize that he shouldn't have yelled and cussed at Marie. Now he'd have to find her, apologize and pray like hell that she'd forgive his outburst.

He quickly got dressed and started to walk over to the guy's cottage. Turning the corner, he was just in time to watch a black SUV pulling away from it.

"Marie!" He cried out futilely as the vehicle moved further away.

Wraith was standing on the front porch of the main cottage as Logan went running past in a hopeless effort to catch up to the rapidly disappearing SUV. He slid on a patch of ice and wound up sprawled on the ground, which effectively ended his pursuit.

"What the hell did you do this time?" Wraith asked him.

"Oh, the usual fuck up," Logan admitted as stood up and started back toward his own cottage.

"That bad, huh?"

Logan just kept walking.

Because Marie had left in the private jet and didn't send it back for him, at the end of the week he and Wraith rode back to the city with Pyro, Gambit and Pete.

Just like when Logan had made the insensitive gold digger comment at the fundraiser, once again Marie wasn't answering his calls – but this time when he'd filled up her voice mailbox, he did finally receive a return call … from Scott.

"She wants me to file a restraining order against you," Scott informed him. "What happened between you two at Lake Placid?"

"She didn't tell you?" Logan asked – genuinely surprised that apparently Marie hadn't divulged all the specifics to Scott.

"She just said that you'd had another fight," Scott replied, "And from the choice names she called you, I guessed it was pretty bad. I didn't need to press her for details."

Not wanting to violate her privacy, Logan just said, "It was. But if I can just speak to her …"

"Look, I'll talk her out of the order of protection – 'cause I'm sure she doesn't need to do anything that drastic. But for now, give her some space. Don't push it," Scott suggested.

"Is she still going to the fight?" he asked, referring to the rematch with Creed.

"Far as I know," Scott answered.

"Tell her I said 'I'm sorry', okay?"

"I'll pass along the message," he promised and then hung up.

The next day Logan and Wraith were in Atlantic City. Scott had arranged for them to stay at the Travelodge on Pacific Avenue, because he said it was conveniently located within walking distance of the Taj Mahal Hotel – the venue for the rematch.

Meanwhile he and Emma – along with Marie, Warren Junior and Kitty – were staying at the Borgata Hotel & Spa, which was a few blocks away from the Boardwalk.

When Wraith met with Scott and Marie in her suite, he wasn't very happy about the disparity between the accommodations.

"Now I see why Logan and I got stuck sharing a room at the Roach Motel," he said bitingly as he surveyed the 1,500 square foot Piatto suite.

"Excuse me?" Marie responded – being unaware of the arrangements that had been made for them.

"How much of Logan's training budget did you spend on yourself?" he asked her – not even attempting to hide his irritation.

"How dare you!" she replied, starting to get angry herself.

"I made the reservations for you and Logan," Scott interjected. "And not that it's any of your business, but Marie is paying for this suite with her own money."

Suddenly Wraith became contrite, because Scott was right – he really had no justification to question the finances. Marie had continued to pay Logan's living expenses as well as covering all the training costs – including a salary for him. If they'd wanted to stay at a nicer place, they should've paid for it themselves.

"You and Logan both need to get more exercise than just jumping to conclusions," Marie told him.

"I'm sorry," was all he could offer.

"I think I'll let you handle this, Scott," she said as she stood up and started to walk toward the suite's foyer, "I'm going down to the spa for a hot stone massage. Which, by the way, I'm also paying for myself."

And with that, she was gone. Slamming the door for emphasis.

"Well, I see you have as much finesse as your buddy," Scott declared.

Wraith had the common decency to look embarrassed.

The X-Men arrived in Atlantic City with much fanfare thanks to Xavier's PR team. While Victor Creed may not have been welcome in high society and therefore never participated in fundraisers for the school, he was a hero amongst the working-class and they formed his fan base – The Carnivora.

Two busty blonde girls accompanied Creed as he entered the lobby of the Taj Mahal – strutting as if he'd already won the much-anticipated rematch. He posed for photos and signed autographs while the X-Men's publicist Moira McTaggert fielded questions from the media assembled to cover the fight.

Logan had been nursing a beer in the Lobby Bar when he heard all the commotion and decided to investigate.

One of the paparazzi recognized him and yelled his name, which caught the attention of the rest of the media pack – who turned their cameras and microphones towards him.

Not happy with no longer being the center of attention and looking for an excuse to goad Logan anyway, Creed pushed his way through the throng until he was within a couple of feet of him.

"Hello, runt," he said with a smug smirk.

Logan tried to look nonplussed and simply replied, "Creed."

"I heard you've got yourself a sweet little sugar mama," Victor taunted.

Choosing to ignore his reference to Marie, instead – alluding to Creed's costume-like long trench coat trimmed in what appeared to be a lot of small dead animals – Logan replied, "I see you still think Halloween is every day."

"This coat was $10,000," Creed bragged.

"Then you got ripped off," Logan countered.

"You're just jealous 'cause you have to shop at Goodwill," Creed replied.

"And still manage to look better than you," Logan retorted.

Creed lunged at Logan, who stood defiantly and showed no fear.

"You're not gonna look so good when I get finished with you," he warned as he jabbed his finger against Logan's chest.

"I'm not scared of you," Logan informed him.

Creed leaned forward so that he was now mere inches from Logan's face and menacingly said, "You should be."

Logan reached into his pocket, pulled out a small tin and offered it up him. "Breath mint?" he said with a smirk.

Creed knocked the tin out of Logan's hand and it dropped to the floor, spilling the small white mints everywhere.

"Hey, you owe me a $1.50," Logan told him.

"Tell you what," Creed said, "I'll buy you a whole case with the money I win."

"You do realize that I'm walking away with the bigger share of the purse?" Logan said – referencing the 75/25 split they'd agreed to.

Creed let out a roaring laugh at that declaration and then suggested, "How about … winner takes all?"

"Done," Logan agreed.

"WHAT?" Wraith yelled.

"I know what I'm doing," Logan said out of the side of his mouth.

The media surrounding the two men went crazy at the agreement that the fight would be 'winner takes all'. Xavier looked triumphant as he wheeled away to follow his champion.

"Are you crazy?" Wraith asked as they made their way back to the bar. "You're risking a quarter of a million dollar payday just because you let that asshole bait you … again."

"I was aiming for the 75% of the million dollar prize money, but thanks for having such little faith in me," Logan snapped as he sat down on the barstool and signaled for the bartender.

"I was just being realistic. Stop being so damn sensitive," Wraith said – then added, "You better win now – or how are you gonna pay your debt to Marie?"

Remembering her shock at thinking their lovemaking had cost her $250,000, Logan suddenly realized that if he lost the fight, he'd have no way to reimburse her.

"I'll win," he stated – although not terribly convincingly.

Meanwhile, Marie was being informed of Logan's latest stunt.

At the match Marie sat quietly on the little wooden stool beside the ring, her eyes cast down in an attempt to avoid looking at Logan. As he climbed into the ring he cleared his throat to get her attention. She peered up into hazel-colored eyes that burned right into her soul. Her breath hitched and then she chewed on her bottom lip to stop it quivering as her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," Logan mouthed as he turned away from her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster announced, "Welcome to the Brotherhood's presentation of 'The Fight That Never Was'."

The crowd broke out in a thunderous roar of approval.

Marie glanced over to the section where their friends were seated and was greeted by a lot of familiar smiling faces – including Storm, who waved and gave her a 'thumbs up' sign. Marie nodded, gave what she hoped was a convincing smile and returned the wave.

The ringmaster continued, "In this corner we have the current undefeated World Champion … Sabretooth!"

Victor pumped his fists in the air and strutted around his half of the ring to the cheers of the audience.

"And in this corner, the man who dares to challenge our champion … the Wolverine!"

Logan raised his arm and waved to the crowd, who greeted him with less enthusiasm than Creed – but at least he had a few fans amongst the masses. He smiled nervously and took a deep breath.

The two men went to their respective corners to await the first bell.

It sounded and they charged at each other.

Marie spent the next few minutes watching through her fingers as Logan and Creed pummeled one another. Even though she still wasn't an expert on the rules, she was fairly sure Victor had executed several illegal jabs, which seemed to be ignored by the referee. But overall, Logan was getting in some good strikes and the fans realized that this match might not have the foregone conclusion they'd assumed it would.

Finally the bell rang again to signal the end of the round and Logan staggered back to his corner. Marie was prepared this time and had slid the stool onto the canvas before climbing into the ring to help Wraith attend to him.

Wraith began reviewing the first round as Marie dabbed at Logan's face with a damp sponge. Then she put salve on his abrasions even though they were already healing themselves.

"Ouch," Logan said and tried to bat her hand away from his face.

"What the hell are you doing out there?" she demanded as she unnecessarily slapped another glob of goo onto his cheek.

"I'm winning," he replied.

"Yes, I noticed," Marie told him.

"Well, that's what you wanted … right?"

"Of course. Because if you lost we might be stuck together for who knows how long … and neither of us want that," she said – wanting it to come out as a statement of fact when it sounded more like babbling.

"Damn right," he responded. "Listen, cutie, you don't even have to stick around – I'll mail you a check."

Before Marie could reply, the bell rang and Logan was on his feet and off to meet Creed in the center of the ring.

He attacked Creed with uppercuts and right hooks – pummeling the man as if his life depended on it. The crowd was going wild cheering for the one who was about to become the new champion.

Marie was standing next to Wraith with her fingernails dug into his arm. "He's going to win," she screamed.

Wraith mistook her declaration as excitement and yelled back, "I know. Isn't it great?"

"NO!"

Wraith's puzzled expression forced Marie to explain. "If he wins, he'll be able to pay me back and then I'll never see him again."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"No," she replied, "After this round, when he comes back to the corner, I have to tell him how I really feel."

Realizing that Logan was going in for the 'kill', Wraith said, "There won't be another rest break – this thing is gonna be over any second."

"But I have to tell him," Marie insisted.

"Send him a text, he'll read it on the way home," Wraith suggested.

Marie looked panic-stricken as she clutched one of the white towels that were used to wipe down the fighters between rounds. Suddenly she had an idea and threw it into the air. As it fluttered down to the canvas it was if everything was moving in slow motion. The crowd, already on their feet and screaming for Logan's eminent victory, were now gasping in shock as the piece of white terrycloth landed on the floor of the ring.

The referee pulled Logan away from Creed and told him, "I think there's been a mistake – your corner just threw in the towel."

Logan glanced over at a sheepish looking Marie and said, "No, it's not a mistake."

"Sorry, Logan," the referee said. Then he walked over to Creed, took a hold of his arm, raised it in the air, and declared him the winner.

The assembled news crews immediately swarmed the ring and converged on Creed as Logan threaded his way through the small crowd. Marie climbed into the ring and ran toward him.

When they were less than a foot apart he said, "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Yeah," she replied, "You still owe me $250,000 and I'm in love with you."

"What was that?" he asked – pretending he couldn't hear her over the noise in the arena.

"I said – you still owe me $250,000," Marie repeated.

"No, the other part," Logan said teasingly as he pulled her toward him.

"You heard me," she said with a smile.

"I'm in love with you too," he told her as they melted into a kiss.

THE END


End file.
